


I am not okay

by eIiza



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Neurodiversity, Other, nd Eliza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eIiza/pseuds/eIiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza is not okay, and proceeds to tell absolutely no one. Aaron figures it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am not okay

**Author's Note:**

> I keep thinking, these two, incredibly good at reading people, would get along great. They can have conversations without saying words as they systematically break down and analyze all of their friends. They need to be friends.

“I am not okay.”

Eliza hits publish on one of many similar posts she’s made today then rolls over to deposit her phone on the bedside table. No one she knows follows that blog. Alone in her room, it’s nearing eight in the evening and she hasn’t changed out of her pyjamas or showered for days. Everything is exhausting.

Ever careful and calculating, in the past week on her “I can’t hang out because I’m busy with school” days, she mentioned in passing to a few friends that she has a cough and a runny nose. It was a lie. She didn’t even make it to class. Then Saturday, yesterday, the gang’s usual hangout day, comes around and she calls in sick, saying that she doesn’t want to pass it on to anyone, but that she’s getting better. Today, she  _ would _ be out with her sisters if it wasn’t for the cold she doesn’t have, and they tell her to drink water and get a lot of rest. Lying in bed and to your friends counts as rest, she reasons.

If they found out about the thoughts that plague her mind and the poor decisions she’s been making, everything she’s built up would come crashing down, and she doesn’t want that. Everything Eliza reveals about herself is planned and thought out in advance. It isn’t lying, just omissions of truth, painting a picture of herself in certain hues and steering clear of others. 

She’s spent years managing her own mental health. No one knows, and no one needs to know. The Eliza that has everyone’s favourite coffee orders memorized can not be the Eliza that’s only eaten nine sort-of-meals in the past five days. The Eliza that reminds her friends of their appointments and due dates can not be the Eliza that’s just skipped three days of classes. The Eliza that pulls her friends aside and asks them “What’s  _ really  _ wrong?” can not be the Eliza that no one wants to spend time with because she’s a nosy try-hard that never has anything of importance to say. This Eliza deserves the ache that’s seized her chest, deserves that no one’s noticed something’s wrong. She’s the one who brought this misfortune on herself so she may as well resign to an unseeable future of solitude. No time like the present to validate the self deprecating thoughts worming their way into her head. There’s nothing else to do.

Her phone screen lights up. She checks her notifications.

_ 8:12 PM _

_ Your lives have been replenished! Help kitty escape the dog yard! (Just now.) _

She swipes on the notification, opening the app. There’s nothing else to do.

 

Monday comes in a hazy, undefined passage of time, and Eliza is blearily awake at seven in the morning, having achieved seven levels of escaping cats and zero hours of sleep. Class starts in an hour and a half. She sets her alarm for half an hour, postponing any decisions she needs to make about the day, rolls over, and finally passes out.

 

There’s knocking and buzzing. Eliza has trouble discerning the noises. Her head aches dull and constant as consciousness drags her awake. There’s a buzz again as she opens her eyes and rolls over. A hand sneaks out from under the blankets to steal her phone to the safety of semi consciousness.

_ 1:24 PM _

_ Aaron: I’m just outside can you open the door? (2 minutes ago.) _

_ Aaron: I’m stopping by with today’s notes and some food. (20 minutes ago.) _

_ Aaron: Eliza, are you home? (20 minutes ago.) _

_ Alarm silenced after 5 minutes. (7:35 AM) _

Perfect. Just  _ great _ . This is  _ exactly _ what she needs.

Eliza stumbles into a sweater, out of her room, and toward the front door. She takes a deep breath.  _ You were sick since Wednesday, but you’ve been getting better. The cough and runny nose are just about gone and you stayed home because of a headache,  _ she refreshes her memory on the web of lies she’s spun.  _ At least that last one isn’t a total lie. _

She unlocks the door to find Aaron Burr. They aren’t on the greeting hugs and holding hands level of friendship, but they’ve had some “maybe you’re more of a friend than an acquaintance” moments. Moments that occur more frequently now that they share a class together. A fact that she forgot until now, thus puncturing a loophole in her grand plan to not see anyone while the mental illness gremlins have her. Eliza smiles at him. Seeing as how they’ve only met through mutual friends a couple months ago, she has confidence that she can keep up a convincing facade until he leaves.

He returns a polite smile, “May I come in? I brought a few things.”

Any hope of him just dropping off aforementioned few things and leaving forever were dashed. She steps out of the way and gestures inside, “Of course.”

He steps in and assesses the tiny apartment. There’s a little kitchen tucked away in the corner to the right, and on the left, a coffee table is sandwiched between a couch and tv. He continues straight in, depositing a plastic bag on the tiny dining table shoved in a corner next to the tv.

“I noticed you weren’t in class today,” he starts, emptying out his plastic bag, “so I assume you are still unwell. Are you hungry?”

Eliza nods, seating herself at the table. Headache droning on, she can’t remember the last time she ate.

Aaron continues, “Good, because I took the liberty of stopping in the grocery store on the way.” He opens the styrofoam containers to reveal steaming noodles, lemon chicken, and a ton of vegetables. Eliza takes in the sight and smell of an actual meal, suddenly realizing how hungry she is.

Forgetting entirely that she didn’t want his company just a few minutes ago, she offers, “I’ll grab some plates.” Aaron settles in the other dining chair and Eliza returns with two plates, a fork, and a spoon. She holds them up to him, asking, “Do you want the fork or the spoon?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I haven’t had the chance to do dishes in a while.”

“Whichever you don’t want,” he smoothly answers.

She doesn’t bother engaging the dance of politeness, too tired to insist upon him choosing and him returning the favour until one of them gets what they want. Instead, she hands him the spoon and they serve up the food. Wanting to inhale the plate, she forces herself to eat slowly for the sake of the charade she needs to keep up.

Halfway through their meal, Aaron says, “I brought you the notes you missed from today and Wednesday, if you’d like to go over them together.”

Eliza idly wonders what he might want her indebted to him for. No other line of reasoning would explain his behaviour. She decides not to get in too deep, “I don’t think I’m up for learning anything right now. That’s why I didn’t go to class.” Smooth. Real convincing.

“Of course,” he says, his voice cool as granite. They continue eating in silence. Eliza feels her headache easing up and the small hope that he’ll leave when they’re done eating dances in her peripheral. But before that, he speaks up again, “Have you had any water today?”

Inwardly groaning, she truthfully answers, “No, I just woke up.”

He smiles at her and she doesn’t know him well enough to read it. He takes up their empty plates and saunters toward the kitchen like he lives here and it is not, in fact, his first time visiting. “Let’s change that,” he tells her.

Following him to the kitchen, he watches her expectantly as she discovers a clean cup in the cupboard. Taking a moment to remember proper host etiquette, though he was the one who invited himself in, she offers, “Do you want one too?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” comes the answer, so she digs out another cup and hands them to him. He fills them under the tap, and they drink in silence. She isn’t sure if he’s stalling for something or if he’s practiced at making himself comfortable in other people’s homes. Either way, he is taking his sweet time and she can’t pull together a decent excuse to usher him out the door. Without asking, he fills her cup again and then starts doing the dishes. Alright then. She perches on the kitchen stool (some shelves are a bit too high, though she’s thankful for the extra storage they provide in her too small kitchen).

Rinsing off a plate, he asks, “How are you feeling?”

Here we go. “A lot better than I was on Saturday.” This is technically true. Lying to her friends so they could have a good time without her was sweet fuel to the thoughts she couldn’t meditate past. She can’t remember how long she spent curled up arms crossed over her chest trying to remember how to breathe.

“That’s good. What symptoms are bothering you today? Your nose seems to be staying put,” he replies.

“What?”

“It’s not running anymore is what I mean.”

“Ah,” but then a smile breaks out and she can’t help but giggle. “Yes that’s true.”

Instead of replying he glances back at her once. He’s finished washing what they used for today’s lunch and has moved on to everything else Eliza let pile up in the sink and surrounding counter.

She remembers his initial question and answers, “I have a headache.”

“There was a quiz today.”

Ah, shit. He’s seen her power through quizzes and project presentations with worse than a headache. It’s a hole in her story. She attempts to cover up, “Well actually, I haven’t been sleeping well, and this morning I slept through my alarm. I would have gone to class otherwise.”

He rinses off the last of the dishes. The sight of an empty sink and clear counters lifts a weight of her shoulders. He turns to face her, looking her straight in the eyes. “Eliza,” she shifts, uncomfortable by the sudden directness, “I think I know what else is going on.”

She looks away. There was a mistake in her story. She can’t pinpoint exactly what is was but she slipped up and he saw right through it. He still doesn’t know the truth for sure, though. She hangs on to that.

She looks back at him, back resting against the counter. “What else is going on?” she asks.

“You don’t actually want me to tell you. Are you scared?” His face is calm, well put together. He’s not smiling, he’s not frowning, there’s nothing. She doesn’t know how to read him but he’s got her cracked wide open. He can think what he thinks he knows. I don’t have to tell him anything.

“Yes,” she states, simple and bare, knowing he’d call her bluff if she tried to lie.

“You don’t need to be,” he explains gently, “I’m the same.”

The same. No, that couldn’t be right. This man who buys his sick friends lunch, does their dishes, brings them notes, he is too well put together to be the same. But then, she thinks about her own mask, her carefully painted portrait. She proceeds cautiously, “How?”

“I’ve done what you’re doing. You have no energy. You feel trapped, maybe? You feel worthless? You cancel every single thing you have planned and replace it with recuperating alone for as long as you need.”

She tries not to react. She can’t admit to him that what he’s saying is true.

He continues, “You don’t need to do it alone. Also,” he adds, “do you have a washroom?”

She considers saying  _ no, no I do not have a washroom, _ before gesturing to the door down the hall but still visible from the kitchen. “In there.”

“Thank you,” he says as he disappears behind it.

What could he possibly gain from helping her. There’s a balance, a scale, she’s on one end but she can not see the other side. There’s also the question of, what does she have to lose? She allows herself this train of thought. He seems to know what he’s doing, and if it doesn’t work out, she can just never speak with him again. If anyone else finds out, she can deny it, downplay it, fake her recovery. She’s hid it this long. No one knows what she’s like when she’s low. She would bet on her friends being unable to imagine their pristine, perfectionist Eliza with dishes piles up in the sink, fridge empty, hair unwashed and unkempt. Maybe they wouldn't even believe Aaron if he tried to say anything. She decides to give him a chance at whatever he’s proposing.

He steps out of the washroom and she tells him, “Okay.”

He understands without further clarification, and offers her his arms. She rises from her stool and steps into the embrace. He wraps his arms tight over her shoulders and down her back. She buries herself in his chest, arm locked around his waist. Neither of them signal letting go any time soon. He was solid, strong, secure. She let him support her weight, and he let her lean on him. She needed this. Fuck, she really needed this.

She closes her eyes and is surprised to find them push away tears. Burying her face further against him, she whispers, “Thank you.”

He squeezes briefly and whispers back, “The pleasure is mine.” The words hit her and she understands. There’s no favour to be gained. He’s doing this because he knows what it’s like. He knows that she’s going through hell and came to make it a little easier. She knows this because, she realizes, she would do the same for him. It’s just who they are. 

They ease out of the hug. Eliza takes Aaron’s hands in hers. She asks, her voice clear despite the tears, “Do you want to watch a movie?” 

“I would love to,” he answers. She looks up at his eyes, cool, unwavering, and finally gets a read. It’s care and concern written in the way he holds his gaze, in the slightest furrow in his brow. Care and concern for me, she realizes as they settle on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Eliza, not at her A game in telling lies due to all the Suffering™ slips up and has to face comfort? In her own home?
> 
> It was the "I don't want to study because I skipped class/I skipped class because I slept in" and the "I haven't been sleeping but I've been home sick for 5 days" combo that tipped him off. That and he plays the same game she does. He knows the cards.


End file.
